


so show me family

by QueenWithABeeThrone



Series: "worst-case scenario is losing you." [1]
Category: Jane the Virgin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Baby-sitting, Bittersweet, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Identity loss, Past Relationships, Pre-OT3, Pre-Relationship, not canon compliant past chapter eighty-two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 06:10:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18277382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenWithABeeThrone/pseuds/QueenWithABeeThrone
Summary: “You’re way scruffier than you were in Mom’s pictures,” is the first thing that little Mateo says to him.or:MichaelJason babysits Mateo, bonds with Rafael, and makes coffee for Jane. somewhere along the way, it’s like he’s come home.





	so show me family

**Author's Note:**

> title is from “Ho Hey” by the Lumineers.
> 
> spoilers for the s5 premiere.
> 
> you don’t need a love triangle to make things Complicated, you just need to be in love with the wife that the man you used to be loved and her boyfriend who you are sort of a little bit grateful to for bringing you here.

_hi,_ is the first thing Jane texts to him on his new phone.

It takes Jason a couple of seconds fiddling with the screen to get the hang of it and actually answer, but—he’s a country fellow, not a dumbass. He manages. _Hi,_ he texts back. Then: _Is anything up?_

Probably a meeting with the doctors again, he thinks. Apparently he’s a medical rarity.

 _nothing!!_ is the first thing he sees, and it’s suspicious enough for his mental alarms to get ready to ring. _not nothing but. can you babysit mateo for us?_ Another message: _raf’s pulling a double shift and i have a midnight launch party to be at. and all the other babysitters i would ask are busy._

Oh, is that all. Babysitting Mateo seems an easy job, at least compared to having to handle rambunctious horses. That _us_ stings, maybe a little bit, but Jason shrugs it off and writes back, _Sure. When should I come by?_

 _six pm,_ Jane texts, and encloses a picture too, something he really should figure out. It’s of Mateo, playing with dinosaurs and a toy ranger, and the corners of Jason’s mouth tug into a small smile. _he wants to meet you._

Jason’s heart lurches onto his throat. He’s been disappointing a lot of people lately, by not being this Michael person. He’s not totally sure he can handle disappointing a five-year-old, especially not Jane and Rafael’s five-year-old. _He’s sure?_ he texts.

 _he knows what happened,_ is Jane’s response. _i told him. he wants to meet you anyway, and lbr the two of you were always going to meet._

_LBR?_

_let’s be real._ Quick on the heels of that message is another one: _he likes you already. just don’t be surprised when he gets a little too honest, he’s a kid._

 _Got it,_ Jason writes back. _I’ll be there._

\--

“You’re way scruffier than you were in Mom’s pictures,” is the first thing that little Mateo says to him.

Jane chokes, her mouth apparently fighting a smile at the same time her eyes are fighting tears. Rafael’s smile is more sincere, but there’s a heavy weight on his shoulders at Mateo’s words.

Jason crouches down, gives the kid a smile. “Well,” he drawls in his best cowboy voice, “ain’t no mirrors out in Montana, y’know.” He sticks his hand out, because if there’s one thing that stuck in his brain it’s being polite. It had been a defense, sort of—at least if he were polite people wouldn’t think him a lowlife drifter. “You must be Mateo,” he says. “I’m Jason.”

“Hi, Jason!” Mateo says, grabbing his hand and giving it a good shake, and Jason breathes a sigh of relief. Apparently Jane did tell her kid, and if Mateo had any problems with it, he’s not letting them on. “This is El Presidente. He’s _awesome_.” And he sticks the toy out.

Jason squints at the toy that Mateo’s holding out for his inspection. It’s weird, it looks just like Rogelio de la Vega. Probably custom-made, he decides. “I’ll just bet he is,” he says, then straightens up and looks at Jane. “Ma’am, sir,” he says reflexively.

Jane winces. Rafael runs his teeth over his lower lip, looks away while exhaling. Even Mateo seems to wince a little, although he immediately runs away to his toys. Shit.

“Jane,” he corrects. “Rafael.”

“Right,” says Jane, after a moment, pasting on a grin. “Anyway. I’ll be back early morning tomorrow, but Rafael will be back earlier than me, emergency numbers are stuck on the fridge—”

“—Xo and Ro and Alba’s numbers are under the basket with the fruit,” Rafael adds. “Also Petra’s. But maybe don’t call her unless you have absolutely no other choice, she’s got her own kids and she’s usually busy on Friday nights.”

“Also our numbers,” says Jane, rummaging around in her purse before she fishes a business card out and pushes it into Jason’s hand. “Mateo’s bedtime is at nine sharp, and don’t feed him anything too sugary before then or you’re going to have a really bad time trying to get him into bed.”

“He likes it when you read him a bedtime story and do the voices,” Rafael says, with earnest seriousness.

“Dad never gets Gambit’s voice right,” Mateo says.

“Dinner’s in the fridge, if you need to eat you can just heat it up,” says Jane.

“And you can stay over,” Rafael adds, and that’s a kindness Jason did not expect but is grateful for anyway—he didn’t exactly _drive_ here, and he doesn’t know his way around town. “I won’t be back till after midnight, and the way Jane’s launches go, she’ll probably be back around—3 AM?”

“4 AM,” Jane says. “I’ve got a chapter reading, meet-and-greets, autograph sessions—”

“Oof, carpal tunnel, here we come,” Rafael says, and Jane laughs and nudges his side, leaning in comfortably close. Jason can’t help but think of the pictures, the videos—Jane laughing and burrowing in close to Michael’s side, content and comfortable. And now Jason’s here with her dead husband’s face, and the sight of her smiling up at Rafael the same way she did in those photographs stings, dully. It shouldn’t. It _shouldn’t_. He isn’t Michael. He was, but he’s not now.

He ducks his head low, doesn’t look her or Rafael in the eye. “Emergency numbers on the fridge,” he recites, “dinner in the fridge, Xiomara and Rogelio and Alba’s numbers under the basket, nothing sugary for Mateo, bedtime is at nine.”

Mateo groans. “But it’s _Friday_ ,” he wheedles. “Fiona’s mom lets her stay up till _ten_.”

Jane’s lips twitch, and Jason knows, somehow, that she doesn’t like Fiona’s mom at all. “Fiona’s mom is,” she starts, then she pauses as if searching for the best way to phrase it. “A little more lenient than she maybe should be,” she says. “Fiona sleeps a lot in class, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah,” says Mateo, scuffing at the floor with his toe. “But I don’t have class tomorrow.”

“But we are going on a trip to the zoo tomorrow,” says Jane. “You don’t wanna fall asleep at the zoo, right?”

Mateo’s eyes go wide as the horror of it sinks in. “No!” he says.

“He’ll go to sleep at nine,” says Jason, feeling—weirdly left out, somehow. And he shouldn’t be. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“Don’t let him watch HBO!” Rafael says, just before Jane shepherds him out. “Or the new episode of his mom’s favorite show, there’s a scene in it he should not watch!” He cranes his neck and calls, “We love you, Mateo!”

“So much!” Jane adds. “Be good for Mi—Jason!”

Nice save there.

“I love you too!” Mateo calls. As soon as the door shuts, he grabs Jason’s hand and says, “Can we talk?”

“Uh,” says Jason. “Sure.”

\--

“My mom used to have talks all the time out on the porch swing,” says Mateo, pulling up a child-sized chair to the table that’s been pushed near one of the windows, “but we don’t have a porch or a swing anymore. So when she wants to have a talk she does this now.”

“You’re learning a lot from your mother,” Jason says, taking the more adult-friendly seat. “What did you want to talk about?”

“My mom,” says Mateo, clambering onto his chair. He’s short as hell, only the tops of his shoulders and his head visible over the table, and his shoes knock against the wood. “She’s happy right now. Like, really happy.”

With Rafael, Jason knows, and that’s a twist in the heart that he didn’t totally expect. He’s grown fond of Jane, certainly, and he can’t thank Rafael enough for giving him this chance to find his past, but—this Michael guy had made her happy too. Now Jason’s just making her sad, making her stumble, and he doesn’t know how to fix that. Doesn’t know if he can or should slot back into her life.

“Yeah, I saw,” he says. “You like him, right?”

“He’s my _dad_ ,” says Mateo, sipping from a juicebox. _Duh,_ he doesn’t say. “You were too.”

Oh. “Sorry,” says Jason, reflexively ducking his head.

“It’s okay, it was when you were Michael,” says Mateo. He looks up at Jason now. “I know you’re different now, but I think—Mom’s even happier when you’re around, even if she gets a little sad too. And Dad likes you a little more now.”

“Oh?” Jason asks. “And what about you?”

“I think you’re cool,” says Mateo, before he takes a sip of his juicebox. “Just promise me something, okay?”

“Okay,” says Jason. “What?”

“When Michael died, Mom cried a lot,” says Mateo. “She missed him so much. She’s okay now, and she doesn’t cry so much anymore, but she still loves him like she loves Dad. So she loves you too.” He tilts his head to the side and says, “Promise me you won’t die again, okay? Or get really hurt.”

God. That is a lot to put on a guy, and Jason swallows, then sighs. Hell, why not. “I promise I’m not going to die again,” he says.

Mateo sticks his pinkie out, and right, he’s five years old. “Pinkie swear it,” he says, with utmost seriousness.

This is the most ridiculous thing that’s ever happened to Jason, and he’s counting the part where he apparently left behind a whole life in another state. But he sticks his pinkie out and links it with Mateo’s anyway. “I promise that I won’t die again,” he says.

“Good,” says Mateo. He hops off and says, “Mom has all the seasons of _Tiago_ on DVD! We can get ice cream out from the fridge and watch my grandpa travel back in time and fight bad guys!”

His grandpa? _Rogelio?_

...that might explain the doll now that he thinks about it.

\--

Mateo grows on you, is the first thing Jason figures out. He’s only babysat the kid for a few hours and already he can’t help but like the little rascal, even when he tries to sneak off halfway through the fourth episode they’ve watched so he can steal cookies.

Michael must’ve loved this kid a whole lot, if even Jason feels fond of him even while he’s hauling him off the kitchen counter. Jane’s told him of all the things Michael loved that Jason’s not a huge fan of, and that raises a lot of philosophical and existential questions that he would rather not dwell on. Instead, what he dwells on is the question of _how do I get Mateo to stop sneaking off to steal dessert when he’s already had a bowl of that purple ice cream?_

“But I want a _cookie_ ,” says Mateo.

“Your mom said no,” Jason reminds him, and Mateo twists around in his arms to glare up at him. Trapped as he is in Jason’s arms, the most Mateo can do is squirm around and complain, which, hey, cool, he’s wrapped his arms around much worse, much louder, and much bigger.

“But Dad lets me,” Mateo wheedles.

“I’m taking your mom’s lead on this,” says Jason. “Also, I don’t wanna miss this part. Do you?”

 _This part_ is the part where Tiago, played by Rogelio de la Vega who Jason is pretty sure thinks real highly of himself, swans into a computer-generated version of the Roman Colisseum to rescue his bosom companion from death by lions. It’s all very dramatic and climactic, and Jason’s not lying, he doesn’t want to miss a single second of it.

Mateo pauses, then says, “Nope.”

“So stay here,” says Jason, releasing him.

Mateo moves off his lap, but otherwise stays on the couch, glued to the screen. “I get a cookie when the credits roll, though, right?” he asks.

“No cookies,” says Jason, admiring the kid’s persistence. “But I’ll get you another juicebox.”

“I want _apple juice_ ,” Mateo informs him.

“Deal,” says Jason.

Onscreen, Tiago brandishes a sword against an impossibly large, snarling lion that roars right in his face. He says, at least according to the subtitles, “Come, then, let us dance for the life and honor of Juanita’s beloved Miguel!”

Mateo cackles and claps.

\--

“You have to take one block out a time on your turn,” Mateo explains, carefully balancing a final wooden block on a tower taller than he is. “You have to get it to fall on your turn to win, or else your opponent gets a chance. And you can’t move the other blocks too much either on your turn, just the one you picked.”

Jason’s sure the rules are different, but hey, whatever, Mateo seems certain enough that he’ll go along with it. “So who goes first?” he asks.

“Me,” says Mateo, and he gently nudges a block out from near the top.

Their game lasts about ten minutes before Jason removes a lonely block from the bottom of the tower, and the whole thing collapses into a mess of blocks across the carpet. Mateo laughs, and shouts, “Again!”

\--

“Take that, José! And that! And _that_!” The El Presidente toy in Mateo’s hand smacks against the chipped action figure in Jason’s. “And this is for North Ecuador!”

Another blow, and Jason gives what he hopes is a good gurgling noise. The toy in his hand falls to the floor, as if collapsing in his death throes, and Jason says in a gravelly voice, “ _Curse you, you fool, I shall return to destroy you and your country both._ ”

“You’ll never destroy me!” Mateo says, grinning widely. “I’m invisible!”

“I think that’s _invincible_ ,” says Jason, coughing somewhat. It’s been a while since he’s adopted any other voice but his own, and holding that gravelly voice is hard work, he finds.

“Yeah, invisible,” says Mateo. “When you’re super strong and nobody can hurt you no matter what. Like Superman.”

“...who?”

\--

They watch the Superman cartoon.

“See!” Mateo says when a laser bounces off Superman’s absurdly well-chiseled chest. “He’s invisible!”

“I guess so,” says Jason, yielding with a small smile.

\--

“Mom reads me a bedtime story before I go to sleep,” Mateo says, as Jason ticks him in for the night. “Sometimes two. It’s Friday so I get two tonight.”

“No you don’t,” says Jason, collapsing into the chair next to Mateo’s bed and picking up a book. It’s a worn book of Mexican folktales, and Jason thumbs through the pages. “You just get one tonight, so make it one you really like.” This, at least, will be easier than talking to Jane, who always seems to expect him to talk faster. At least the words are there already.

The brain is an inexact science. The doctors said that some of his trouble with speaking fast came from having his brain shocked so much. At least reading from a book means someone else has written the words down, all he has to do is sound them out.

“Two,” says Mateo.

“One,” says Jason. “I’m—not much of a talker. Or a reader.”

Mateo full-on pouts at him, but says, “Fine.” He reaches a hand out to take the book and flip to a dog-eared page, then hands it back to Jason. “Do the voices,” he adds.

“Okay,” says Jason, with a nod. Then he starts: “There once was a priest whose soul was black with rot…”

\--

Mateo’s fast asleep when Rafael comes home, like he said he would. Jason—well, Jason had _tried_ to sleep, he really did. He’d even managed two whole hours of it. Then the dreams started: the lady from the field, standing over him with a dark smile while he fought and rattled against his restraints, touching his cheek, saying a name that didn’t belong to him, _no one is coming for you—_

And then pain.

He’s practiced at muffling his screams by now, especially with Mateo asleep in the other room. He shuffles out of the guest room and puts on a pot of coffee, the dream slipping out of memory with all the others. The only trace it was ever there is a migraine, pounding behind his eyelids. No way he’s going to sleep tonight.

Rafael finds him in the kitchen, first. “You all right?” he asks.

“Mateo’s fine,” Jason says, nodding to Mateo’s bedroom door. “Fast asleep, dunno how after the story I read.” God, the skeleton jumping out to terrorize the poor janitor is going to haunt his nightmares, apparently. “I’m fine too,” he adds, because Rafael’s giving him an annoyed look like he thinks Jason’s trying to dodge the question. Which he is.

“It’s past midnight and you’re drinking coffee,” says Rafael.

 _You don’t have any liquor,_ Jason doesn’t say. Of course they don’t have liquor, they have a kid. “I have insomnia,” he says instead. “It’s—a side effect, I think. Of the—” He waves a hand over his temple.

“Right,” says Rafael, but, and thank god, he doesn’t pry. Then he pauses and asks, “Have you got enough for another mug?”

Jason gets a new mug, and pours out a cup, pushing it towards Rafael. The guy makes a face, and goes to the fridge to fetch some milk, picking up some sugar along the way, and Jason watches as Rafael turns his black coffee a golden brown and stirs in three teaspoons of sugar.

Then he steals the sugar and adds in four, because he’s never liked black coffee all that much. Tolerated it, certainly, but he’d rather not drink it completely black.

It’s bittersweet on his tongue. He looks at Rafael, who’s watching him now. “What?”

“Nothing,” says Rafael. “We weren’t exactly— _friends_ , when you were Michael.” He smiles a little, but it’s a sad and brittle thing. “I fell in love with Jane,” he says, “and she married you. And then you died, and she grieved you, and I thought— _there goes a good man, damn shame we never really became good friends._ ” He takes a sip of his coffee, makes a face, and says, “She said you used to drink your coffee with so much sugar she thought you’d rot your teeth.”

“She didn’t say that,” says Jason, a little surprised. Every time he learns a little more about Michael, he feels off-kilter, off-balance, unsure of where he’s standing. Which is about the usual, for him. This similarity knocks him even more off-kilter, though—Michael liked too-sweet coffee, and so does Jason. Michael cared about Mateo, and so does Jason.

Michael loved Jane.

...Maybe Jason does too, and isn’t that a terrifying thought, because Rafael’s a good person too, and he and Jane are comfortable and happy. Jason doesn’t want to get in the way of that, especially not when he feels as if he’s standing on quicksand, sinking fast.

“Suppose she didn’t,” says Rafael. “Maybe she thought you’d remember on your own.” He looks down at the cup, chewing on his bottom lip.

Jason rubs his fingers over the mug. “Maybe,” he says, but he doesn’t hang a whole lot of hope on that. It’s been years, and there’s a gravestone with Michael’s name on it, and Jason is someone else with the face of a ghost. And some of his baggage, too. “You’re not sleeping either,” he says, instead.

“Had a long night,” says Rafael, with a sigh. Then he looks up at Jason, and lets out a breath. “I can’t say I mind the company, though.”

“I don’t mind,” says Jason. He raises his mug, like it’s a wine glass he can toast with. “To not sleeping,” he says.

“To not sleeping,” Rafael echoes, and they clink their mugs together before taking a sip. “God, we need to get something better than instant coffee.”

“This _is_ pretty good coffee,” says Jason. “You just need to put a little more sugar in there.”

“Haha, no,” says Rafael, but he bumps Jason’s shoulder almost companionably. Something eases in Jason’s stomach, and he relaxes, hunching over his mug and taking a few sips. “Think we should put on a third mug, for Jane? She likes it iced with milk and sugar.”

“Can’t hurt,” says Jason.

\--

Jane comes home to Michael/Jason and Rafael asleep on the couch just as the sky is beginning to lighten, and smiles. She creeps closer and pulls the blanket up over their shoulders, and presses a kiss to Rafael’s temple. She hesitates before she does the same to Jason.

She takes a peek into the kitchen, opens the fridge door, and smiles.

There’s a glass of iced coffee in the fridge, with a note attached: _Welcome home, Jane._

It’s in Rafael’s handwriting, but when she takes a sip of the coffee, she smiles, even as her eyes start to blur with tears.

It tastes exactly how Michael used to make it.


End file.
